


Something Wicked This Way Comes

by that_1_incident



Series: The Beast With Two Backs [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Madam Spellman - Freeform, Michelle Gomez's character has so many goddamn names I can't even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_1_incident/pseuds/that_1_incident
Summary: The positively wicked encounter that might have occurred if Ms. Wardwell hadn't left the mortuary so abruptly that night...(Based on the interaction between Ms. Wardwell and Zelda in "Chilling Adventures of Sabrina" 1x04, "Witch Academy.")





	Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Scorpio szn: *commences*  
> Me: This is fine.  
> CAOS: *premieres*  
> Me: ...Uh-oh.
> 
> Cut to the Madam Spellman pairing ruining my whole entire life in simultaneously the best and worst possible ways. God damn it.
> 
> Oh, and ICYMI, [There's Magic in the Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575416), [There's Something About Mary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676707), [Post Tenebras Lux](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16781785), [The Shadowy Murmur of Suns](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922571), [The Deathly Solace of Presence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299514), and [The Silvery Glamour of Star-Birth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659382) are also things that exist.

Zelda’s never been particularly invested in Sabrina’s mortal education. She expects her niece to do well, of course, because that’s the Spellman way, but at the end of the day, SAT scores are neither here nor there when fulfilling one’s unholy calling at the feet of the Dark Lord. As a result, she's historically preferred to see the whole Baxter High undertaking as little more than a lackluster alternative to homeschooling – something to help Sabrina pass the time until her dark baptism and subsequent admission to the Academy of Unseen Arts, at which point her life will truly begin. 

So it’s hardly surprising that Zelda’s managed to avoid meeting the vast majority of her niece’s educators over the years, typically electing to stay home and help Ambrose handle the influx of mortuary business from the car accidents that always seem to occur in mysterious conjunction with Sabrina’s parent-teacher conferences. And she’s never regretted that decision, no matter how many times she’s been eyed reproachfully by a rightfully suspicious Hilda (who, needless to say, not only attends every conference but shows up with a veritable cornucopia of baked goods). 

Or, at least, she never regretted it until she finally met Ms. Wardwell. 

\--

When Zelda first lays eyes on her, Wardwell is descending the imperial staircase of the Spellman home decidedly, well, imperiously. Her lithe body is encased in a lusciously form-fitting jacket, its inky black sheen catching the light of the chandelier hanging in the foyer, and she wraps her scarlet-manicured fingers around the banister as if she owns the place. 

“So sorry,” she purrs without a shred of discomfort, her complete lack of chagrin belying the fact that she’s just been caught in someone else’s house by none other than the homeowner. “I was looking for the powder room, and that lovely little English lady who told me to wait has been gone for so long…”

When Wardwell’s icy blue eyes meet hers, the effect on Zelda is instant and electric. But even with something wound tightly inside her beginning to release like a fist unclenching, Zelda summons as steely a tone as she can muster. “And you are?”

“Ms. Wardwell.” Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, the woman continues to slink toward her with what Zelda considers to be nothing less than a flagrant disregard for personal space, although she can’t quite bring herself to mind. “I’m one of Sabrina’s teachers, but I came here to make some... funeral arrangements.” 

The impudence with which Wardwell’s eyes are asserting themselves at the forefront of Zelda’s consciousness is frankly maddening, but Zelda forces herself to focus on the problem at hand – namely that her sister is likely up to no good and almost definitely requires wrangling. “I see. And the woman you spoke to, where did she go?” 

“The basement, I believe.” As if sensing she’s found herself in the middle of an impending sororal quarrel, Wardwell tilts her head toward the door. “Well, I shall be on my way.” 

“Please.” Zelda holds up a hand. “If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat in the parlor, I’ll join you shortly, I just… have a slight personnel issue to address first.” The way Wardwell looks at her makes her soul shudder, so she qualifies a little huffily, “It won’t take long.” 

“I suppose that would be all right,” Wardwell responds, although her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

\--

With both Ambrose and Hilda banished to their respective bedrooms post-astral projection fiasco, Zelda heads to the parlor, where she discovers Wardwell has removed her coat to reveal an impressively tight pencil skirt and a crisp blouse with a plunging neckline.

“You’ve returned,” Wardwell observes archly, batting her eyelashes as she watches Zelda lower herself gracefully onto the couch. 

Zelda thinks she sees something in the other woman’s gaze – a spark, a glint of recognition – and she finds herself fervently hoping her cheeks aren’t stained with the unmistakable hue of arousal. Blushing would be so embarrassingly adolescent of her, and yet the unflinching heat that courses through her veins whenever she so much as glances in Wardwell’s direction makes it feel as though she’s in the presence of the Dark Lord himself. 

The fact that Wardwell’s female isn’t what’s throwing her off – on the contrary, Zelda’s been around for enough centuries and known enough souls in enough physically diverse incarnations to develop a view of gender as being similarly variegated and temporary to an outfit one might don in the morning and shed at night. No, it’s the fact that although she’s just met this woman, this teacher, she somehow feels completely and utterly powerless to look away. 

“So, you know Sabrina?” Zelda inquires coolly, willing her heartbeat to slow down so she can restore a sense of decorum to the proceedings. 

Wardwell beams. “Oh, I know her very well. What a delightful young woman; a credit to her upbringing.” (At this juncture, Zelda definitively loses the battle to keep her face from flushing, but if Wardwell notices, she’s merciful enough not to let on.) “In fact, I must confess I had an ulterior motive in coming by today.”

“An ulterior motive?”

“I was availed of the information that Sabrina’s being raised by her aunts in the wake of her parents’ untimely demise, and I simply couldn’t wait any longer to make the acquaintance of the women responsible for molding such a well-adjusted child.” Wardwell languidly twists a dark strand of hair around her finger, transfixing Zelda in the process. “Makes you question the validity of needing a man in the home at all, doesn’t it?” 

Zelda purses her lips for a moment and tries in vain to collect herself. “And you came here to…?”

Wardwell grins wolfishly. “Get to know you better, I suppose, although I had no way of anticipating how pleasing you’d be to the eye.” 

It’s at this point that Zelda runs out of other potential interpretations for what’s going on here, and any lingering doubts are erased when Wardwell sinks to her knees in front of her. 

\--

“Who _are_ you, really?” 

The only words Zelda’s been able to formulate since Wardwell’s astonishing yet not unwelcome supplication fall from her lips as breathily as an incantation while Wardwell’s tongue flickers between her thighs. 

“Whoever you’d like,” Wardwell murmurs, the low growl of her voice parlaying itself into an excruciating hum that seems to set Zelda’s entire body on fire. 

Zelda wants to follow up, to hone in on specifics, but then Wardwell grasps her hips with an almost unbearable sharpness and doubles down on her ministrations in a way that can only be described as devilish. With a sigh that’s equal parts frustration and ecstasy, Zelda buries a hand in the other woman’s perfectly coiffed hair and tugs, dropping her head back and biting her lip as her climax bears down on her like a train. 

\--

Zelda’s postcoital view of Wardwell’s visage is nothing short of delicious. Although slightly mussed, the other woman’s hair somehow holds its severe styling, her deep red lipstick now glistening from the rush of Zelda’s orgasm. Nerve endings still singing, Zelda reaches in the vague direction of the pleasing swell of Wardwell’s breast, but Wardwell stops her by lacing their fingers together in a fierce grip. 

“I make a great deal of noise,” the other woman purrs, and the admission strikes Zelda as being halfway between a warning and a promise. “But unlike you, I live alone, so you should drop by my cottage sometime and… finish me off.” 

Zelda runs her fingertip across an impossibly sharp cheekbone and wonders whether Wardwell’s aware of how fast her pulse is racing. “I’ll -” Her voice sounds hoarse and foreign to her ears, so she swallows hard and tries again. “I’ll be there tomorrow evening, Satan willing.” 

Wardwell flutters her eyelashes and regards Zelda with a piercing blue gaze. “Indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's a sequel to this now! [Ch-check it out.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279485)


End file.
